


Ghost of a Feeling

by bryonyashley



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Napoleon Solo/OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/pseuds/bryonyashley
Summary: "What else there’s to say…” muttered Illya, looking somewhere beyond Gaby and getting back to his game feigning indifference while all kinds of questions were pulling at him like demanding children.“They were really close.“He took a deep breath. How close, exactly? How did David die? Was David’s death the reason Cowboy worked better alone? Apparently this David guy had had a special place in Cowboy’s heart…





	Ghost of a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [RileyC](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC) for her time and patience in betaing this fic and to all the lovely people in the TMFU fandom who read my stuff and bear with me and my love for the boys. ♥ Any inaccuracies are all mine.

**~**

The weather was pleasantly warm and dry in New York City that June, and the blue sky hovering over the city was a lovely sight from the windows of the luxury penthouse apartment in Manhattan. Their latest mission brought to a successful conclusion, they were enjoying some downtime there. 

Gaby sighed, switched on the television and stretched herself out on the loveseat. Waverly was at the headquarters, in a meeting with the five chiefs of U.N.C.L.E. because the operation had been a big one and collective decisions had to be made. Napoleon had been away since early morning and Illya was still imperturbably playing chess by himself when she had returned from shopping.

“This movie is so boring,” she huffed minutes later, trying to get Illya’s attention.

“The bookshelf is full of great literature in English, if you need a pastime,” suggested the Russian, barely raising his eyes from the chessboard.

“Or we could go for a stroll in Chinatown, find a nice place where to lunch,” retorted Gaby, “Solo won’t be back soon. He said he was going to his apartment today and I’ve heard him ask the cab driver to take him to the Riverside Cemetery. I guess he is going to visit David’s grave.“

 _David?_   Illya scowled. “Who’s David?” He asked, his tone of voice failing to hide his interest.

“Oh…I reckon this particular info was not in his KGB file?“ questioned Gaby a bit surprised. _God, he is totally clueless, isn’t he?_

It was almost five months that the three of them were working together in U.N.C.L.E. and Napoleon and Illya, despite their bickering, had grown to respect each other and there was definitely something more going on between them, judging by the way they were always gravitating around each other, gazes lingering. So, apparently, Illya was clueless, and Solo had built up such a thick wall around his heart that he couldn’t see what was before his eyes.

“David was Napoleon’s partner during his first year in the CIA, he trained him and they were … really close. He died. That's all I am saying. If you want to know more, you better ask Solo,” added Gaby, making a face.

“What else there’s to say…” muttered Illya, looking somewhere beyond Gaby and getting back to his game feigning indifference while all kinds of questions were pulling at him like demanding children. _“They were really close.“_   He took a deep breath. How close, exactly? How did David die? Was David’s death the reason Cowboy worked better alone? Apparently this David guy had had a special place in Cowboy’s heart…

“All right, let’s go to Chinatown or wherever you want!” exclaimed Illya then, standing up suddenly, almost overturning the little table in front of him as he did so. “Stop talking nonsense,” he mumbled, letting out a tense breathe. Gaby thought better to let drop the subject.

**~**

Waverly was just about to leave his office in the headquarters, a satisfied smile on his face. The U.N.C.L.E. team had destroyed a factory that was a THRUSH cover for the production of a potent poison gas, arrested ten people, and a lot of other branches of the organizations all around the planet were about to be eliminated. All was well again, in the world. Then the phone started to ring.

**~**

“Miss Teller.” Greeted Waverly, with a polite look on his face, when Gaby opened the door to let him in. She and Illya had just got back from their lunch.

“Ah, Kuryakin, I’m glad to see you are here, we seem to have a little problem with Mr. Solo and I was wondering if you could take care of the matter,” he said looking at Illya with a hopeful smile on his face.

“What happened to Cowboy?” exclaimed Illya notably worried.

“Someone tried to kill him …while he was at the cemetery. Quite ironic, isn’t it? Anyway...”

Waverly was abruptly interrupted by a flood of questions from both Gaby and Illya.

“Relax…relax…Mr. Solo is alive. He ducked at just the right moment and the bullet didn't enter the skull, just grazed the back of his head and only four stitches were needed, but at the moment he is, unfortunately, almost blind. His vision will return, I have been guaranteed that, but it could take a few hours or …a week...it depends.”

“Blind?” questioned Gaby.

“Post traumatic transient cortical blindness. That’s the term. The X-ray shows nothing abnormal and he is able to see shadows and shapes but he is suffering from headaches and dizziness. They are keeping him overnight at the hospital as a precaution and he will be discharged tomorrow morning. But, you know how it is with Mr. Solo, he just wants to be…Solo, excuse the pun. He has been, er...let’s say, very vocal, about what he thinks of my idea to have a nurse help him for few days until he regains his eyesight. Something about senility, and other very embarrassing things.”

Gaby let out a loud laugh. “Yeah, let’s have Peril here take care of him, instead.”

Illya’s gave her an indignant look. “I can do that,” he said, voice steady.

“Ah well, that’s very good to hear, Mr Kuryakin,” replied Waverly, patting his arm. “Now, as for what happened at the Riverside Cemetery,” he took an envelope from inside his jacket and placed it on the writing desk, “all you have to know is reported here. Miss Teller, I might be in need of your help for a couple of days at the headquarters.  And with that…” Waverly nodded, smiled goodbye and then left.

In a second Gaby had her hands over the envelope, opened it, and started to read out aloud. “Two shots, the first bullet was a miss and the second grazed him on the back of his head. He was visiting David’s grave and there were other people nearby so he was rescued immediately afterwards. Lydia Fabiani! “ she exclaimed. Then, when Illya looked a question at her, she explained, “David’s sister. They have arrested her just outside the cemetery. She was out of her mind, apparently.”

Illya was brooding, “Why did this woman shoot Napoleon?”

Gaby sighed, then almost reluctantly handed him the envelope and went towards the drink's cabinet. She poured some vodka into two glasses and then turned around towards Illya. He was sitting on the couch, a mix of disbelief and confusion spreading through him as he read. He looked up at Gaby and took the glass of Vodka, drank it all in one sip.

“So she was the jealous girlfriend who reported him and had him arrested …” said Illya, almost to himself.

“Jealous? Yes. Girlfriend? Only in her mind. She couldn’t accept Napoleon was …involved, if you know what I mean, with her brother. Napoleon didn’t know David was an agent back then. After Lydia reported him, David made a deal with the CIA and got him released from prison. When David got shot during a mission, months later, Lydia got even more mad and accused Napoleon of being responsible for David’s death. Sanders took care of the matter at that time but apparently her mental health has got worse and worse since then,” continued Gaby.

 _Lovers. Napoleon and David were lovers._ He had wondered, sometimes… In Paris Airport, Napoleon and that steward talking so close and smiling sweetly at each other in the alley, until Illya had interrupted them _and Napoleon had been so annoyed_.

But no, he had thought then, it couldn’t be, Napoleon was a womanizer, wasn’t he? Clearly his growing attraction for the American was getting the better of him. _Some things are better left unacknowledged_ , he had said to himself and now to know that Cowboy had had a male lover...

“Illya,” Gaby called him out of his reverie and sat next to him on the couch, “are you all right? You seem a bit appalled. Is it because of Napoleon and David…being… you know?”

“No.. I..I won’t judge that. I was only wondering …how is it possible that this woman was at the cemetery at the same time of Napoleon and with a Walther PP22?”

“Good question! Maybe the gun belonged to David? But yeah…there’s something fishy here.”

**~**

“I’m sure taking care of an invalid is not part of your contract,” said Napoleon with a huff. He had been discharged from the hospital in the morning, a small bandage covering the wound on his head.

Illya had brought him a suit but Napoleon had not permitted anyone to help him to dress, and he was continuously running a hand over his head to keep his rebellious hair down, something that Illya found amusing and a bit endearing.

Now they were in the sitting room of their penthouse apartment; Napoleon, with rolled-up sleeves and socks with no shoes, sitting on the couch and Illya on the armchair in front of him.

“You are not an invalid, Cowboy. Your eyesight will be back. “

“Right. Then you don’t need to babysit me all day. I’m sure Gaby will be happy if you take her for a walk or help her find something outrageously expensive to wear for dinner or…you know…” sighed Napoleon. His headache was intensifying and he laid down on the couch, a pile of pillows under his head.

"Gaby is away with Waverly.They need a woman, a German mother tongue for a mission or something. And it’s raining outside, I have no desire to go out," answered Illya, closing the book he was reading.

"I would go out if I could. Instead here I am. I can’t work, I can’t travel, I can’t even buy the things I need. But at least, I’m spared having to see you’re scowling at me like I am sure you are doing now, " Napoleon said with a wry smile.

“Very funny.“ Illya almost rolled his eyes.”If you need something I can buy it for you or I can take you to your apartment,” replied Illya.

“Why, Peril, are you curious to see where I am supposed to live?“ said Napoleon with a grin, “There’s not much in there, I just check the place twice a year, if ever.”

“It would have been better if you had gone there instead than to David Fabiani’s grave.” Illya silently cursed himself for not being able to shut up on that subject.

Napoleon’s eyes widened and he kept silent for a while. “That is none of your business,” he said then, pulling himself to a sitting position and looking at the blurred figure of his partner he could see in front of him.

“No, of course, it is not. You could be dead by now but it’s none of my business, right!” Illya was starting to get angry.

“We could be dead any moment, that’s our world, that’s the way we live. We were about to kill each other only few months ago.”

“But in the end we didn’t! That should mean something, Cowboy. We are partners now. I know what happened to David hurts but it wasn’t your fault..”

“Let’s just drop it, Peril!” Napoleon cut him off. He was sure Illya and Gaby had already fully analyzed his past and his inclinations. Whatever Illya wanted to discuss, Napoleon could not deal with it at the moment. _Lydia was right…David shouldn’t have been there that day trying to save my life, that’s why he got killed, **it was** my fault._   This thought had been like a ghost tormenting him, and since then he had not allowed anyone within his heart again. _Well…until the Red Peril here._

God, he couldn't allow himself to fall in love again. He sighed, hand pinching his forehead. _Too late for that, idiot._

“You still would prefer to work alone, I guess…” started Illya, voice so low Napoleon barely heard it.

 _I would prefer never to see you shot to death because of me._ “I have a headache from hell. I think I’ll go to bed for a while, ”said Napoleon, avoiding an answer.

He got up and so did Illya, coming up beside him and offering his arm to grasp as the nurse instructed them at the hospital. He accompanied Napoleon to his room, an uncomfortable silence between them.

“If you need something just call out,” said Illya.

Napoleon nodded and when he sat down on the bed Illya noticed that the ring he was usually wearing on his little finger was gone.

**~**

Around noon Illya knocked at Napoleon’s door. “Hey Cowboy.” He entered and saw Napoleon standing near the large window, gaze a bit lost in the light coming through the window glass.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

“Am I?” replied Napoleon, bitterly, turning towards Illya.

Illya moved closer, facing him. “You will be,” he asserted, trying to suppress the instinct to take him into his arms, comfort him. He hated to see Napoleon in such a low mood but he didn’t know what to do to make him feel better.

“What if the doctors are wrong? It would have been better if Lydia had killed me. What I am going to do if I will stay blind?” Napoleon winced at his own words.

“You will do what other blind people do,” said Illya, “this, for a start.” He took Napoleon's hands in his own, imitating what he had seen people doing at the hospital.

“What ..?" exclaimed Napoleon, startled. Illya tentatively placed Napoleon's hands on his forehead and Napoleon froze on the spot. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, not understanding at first what Illya was doing.

"Stop whining, Cowboy." Illya ordered, and Napoleon thought it was such a daring thing to do, coming from Illya, that he didn’t want to let him down.

Napoleon sighed and furrowed his brows, slowly moving his fingers over Illya's forehead, feeling him frowning, then his temples, tracing slowly the length of his scar on the left. "How did you get this? I’ve always wondered," he asked, quietly.

"My welcome to the KGB,” Illya answered almost with a hint of humor. “The result of a fight during my training days."

Napoleon's hands unsteadily moved down on his cheeks, feeling smooth skin, so smooth Illya must have just shaved his beard. It felt such an intimate thing, to caress Illya’s face like this. He felt Illya gulp when one of his hands reached the corner of his mouth. The urge to brush over Illya's lips was so damn tempting... He had thought about that mouth doing things to him way too much... _Bad, bad idea._ Napoleon pulled his hands away, taking a deep breath. ”Look…” he started to say but Illya unexpectedly caught his wrist , slowly pulling Napoleon’s left hand back to his lips.

"Don't stop ..." Illya said, voice soft, _please don't stop,_ heart beating so fast he felt dizzy.

Napoleon’s stomach clenched when he realized his fingers were tracing the seam of Illya's lips and he groaned softly when the Russian drew two of them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over the tips, leaving Napoleon yearning for his touch. "Illya... “ He chewed his bottom lip. _What are you doing to me?_   He slowly pulled his hand away and stepped back, questioning him. “Why…?”

“I want this…I want you.” Illya said simply, boldly, knowing he was risking it all. He had been puzzled by Solo’s habit of provoking him, wondering for ages if it was a way to let him know that he knew - _Illya Kuryakin, homosexual, a shame for your homeland,_ – as Oleg used to say and now he just needed an answer: _Do I have a chance with you?_ Because he wanted him, he wanted to be that special person who owned his heart, he wanted Cowboy for himself, body and soul and everything.

Napoleon, eyes wide and fingers still tingling, was at a loss. _Why now?_   “No…” he whispered. Then with a sharp voice, shaking his head, breathing hard, “You never gave me a crumb of hope that you could be interested and now, all of a sudden, you have decided you are into men? Or is this a case of let’s experiment with my partner, after all it is well known fact that he is willing,” he snarled mockingly.

“What? No! I didn’t think … “ shouted Illya, anger spreading through him. He tried to calm himself, lowered his voice, breathing hard. “It is not like that.”

“No, Peril? Then tell me... How is it? How is it with Gaby?” Napoleon demanded, letting the hurt leak through his voice.

“Me and Gaby? We are just friends. It didn’t work. It couldn’t. I was just trying to be something I am not,” murmured Illya with a defeated voice, but suddenly it dawned on him, that Napoleon had been jealous of them. “I am not attracted to women, never have been,” he admitted at last, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from him.

Napoleon knitted his brows. “Well, just so you know, I am,” he retorted, nonchalantly. ”I am attracted to women.”

“I am perfectly aware of that,” Illya returned, exasperated, almost turning away.

”Illya.” Napoleon called him softly, blindly grabbing his arms, closing the space between them and looking up at him. “Just so you know, I am also attracted to a very stubborn giant Russian, whose face I really wish I could see right now.”

Illya swallowed hard and in a second wrapped his hand around Napoleon's nape, bringing their mouths together. Napoleon moaned into the kiss, hands sliding down Illya's back pulling him against his body, wanting to feel him.

“I need to see you, I need to see if all of this is real. What kind of punishment is this?“ whispered Napoleon, when they broke apart.

“You can feel me…” said Illya, breathlessly, ”touch me... feel me…this is real,” he whispered walking Napoleon backwards towards the bed, laying him down. “Does the wound hurt?” he asked.

Napoleon shook his head and reached for him, pulling him on top, hands sneaking under his shirt, caressing and grazing whatever skin he could reach. They kept kissing deep and slow, and Illya ground himself against Napoleon’s body, hard and aching and feeling _so good_ , desire flowing between them like liquid fire, the rest of the world forgotten.

**~**

When Gaby got back from the headquarters at three p.m., Napoleon and Illya were still eating, sitting silently at the table of the living room.

“Take out pizza?” she exclaimed with a scandalized tone “I can’t believe you are eating that. What happened?”

“What do you mean?” scowled Illya. ”Nothing has happened. We just …wanted pizza.”

Napoleon said nothing, he just kept eating his slice with a smug face.

“Uhm… Five months in U.N.C.L.E. and I’ve never seen you eating pizza, not even in Italy,” mumbled Gaby, crossing her arms, ” Waverly is expecting me to report how things are going between you guys and I am not sure what I should to say to him.”

Napoleon started to laugh at that and Illya cheeks went pink.

Gaby looked at them with a questioning look. “Anyway, I think I have an answer about your query of yesterday, Illya.”

“Query?” he repeated.

“Why Lydia Fabiani was at the Riverside Cemetery at the same time as Solo with a Walther PP22?” repeated Gaby in a neutral tone, gazing firmly at Napoleon who was just placing down his glass of wine.

Napoleon sighed. “Because I have been so stupid as to send her a parcel from the Post Office of this district.”

“Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it.” Illya stood up, shaking his head nervously. “What did you have to send her that was so important?”

Gaby locked his eyes with Illya then made a gesture with her head towards Napoleon, then she touched her little fingers.

Illya’s eyes widened. “Oh…” The ring... _So that was David’s ring_.

Napoleon remained silent at first, moving his head back and forth between them. “I just felt it was time to close that chapter of my life,” he said, as if responding to a voiceless question, passing his hand over his eyes once, “and that ring belonged to David’s family so I thought getting it back to them was the right thing to do. I couldn’t imagine Lydia was still so resentful after all this time.”

“So she tracked you down, saw you taking the taxi and followed you to the Riverside Cemetery. Oh, and the gun belonged to her brother like I suggested,” concluded Gaby.

“Always thought you were the smartest spy of the team,” conceded Napoleon, ”Oh, and that green dress really suits you. I see you already ventured out for shopping,” he added with a smile.

“How did you…wait...your eyesight is back! “ beamed Gaby.

He waggled his eyebrows and stood up from the chair, intending to head for the drink’s cabinet. “Shall we celebrate?”

“Cowboy!” exclaimed Illya, moving closer and locking him in a possessive embrace, leaving Napoleon quite surprised at this public display of affection.

“How sweet! I can hear wedding bells,” joked Gaby, fondly. ”Now I know what to tell to Waverly.”

Illya let go of Napoleon and the American tried to regain his composure, cracking his neck and adjusting the collar of his shirt with an embarrassed sigh. His boyfriend was really like an octopus, _he has been since day one._ He smiled to himself at the memory.

“You better be careful with what you say to Waverly or I will put you over my knee,” challenged Illya waving his finger at Gaby.

“Promises, promises,” she replied winking at them playfully then turning towards the door of her room and disappearing behind it.

 


End file.
